


To Taste His Name

by AHardDaysNight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Azkaban, Dark, Drama, Gen, Prison, criminal, insane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 21:40:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AHardDaysNight/pseuds/AHardDaysNight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say you go mad in Azkaban.. Barty Crouch Jr. paranoid and insane in his Azkaban cell.. Oneshot ficlet into Barty Jr.'s mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Taste His Name

_Originally written Dec, 2006._

* * *

 

The walls were closing in on him.  His cell was becoming smaller and smaller with every passing second as though their sole purpose was to crush him.  The bars that allowed him to peer into the dingy, dirty walkway between the prison cells seemed ready to impale him if he dared try to escape.

Barty Crouch Jr. scrunched his eyes shut and sucked in a long, shaky breath.  He wanted it to stop, to stop tormenting him every day of his bloody life.  If only he could escape this prison – this hellhole – he would have some sanity left in him.  Azkaban was a place no person should ever step foot in; not even a convicted criminal. 

The Dementors haunted him constantly.  When awake, they invaded his mind, forcing him to relive horrible experiences and causing him to forget even his own existence.  When asleep, they continued to haunt him.

There was always a black phantom lingering in his dreams.

Barty brought his knees tightly to his chest and wrapped his arms around them.  “I have to leave,” he said in a hoarse whisper as he rocked back and forth – his only form of comfort as of late.  His brain was so scrambled and crammed with fear and paranoia that he couldn’t remember his own name.  It was there, lingering, on the tip of his tongue, refusing to be tasted.  The obsession of tasting his own name tormented him almost as much as the Dementor’s obsession to live off his thoughts.

Suddenly, an odd, alien sound made his ears alert.  Eyes bulging and mind reeling, he searched for the source of the sound.  The consistent _thwump thwump_ grew louder with every occurrence, its echoes bounced off the walls, hitting every surface of the prison.  Barty recoiled, desperate to vanish into the brick wall behind him.

Holding his breath, he listened until silence engulfed his ears, save the weak moans and whimpers from the other prisoners, which he had grown so accustom to hearing.  The foreign sound ceased to be.  Satisfied, Barty opened his eyes only to find a man standing before his cell.  There was something very familiar about the mystery man, which Barty could not quite place in his jigsawed mind.

The man wrapped both hands around two of the bars, rested his forehead against another and sighed deeply.  “Hello, son,” he whispered to Barty, as though it pained him to speak.

Barty’s eyes widened in shock as memories flooded through him like a tsunami. 

“Father?”

* * *

 


End file.
